After Everything
by horseislove
Summary: "The Quidditch Pitch was always one of the best places to be alone and think. It's not there anymore, but I find myself sitting where it used to be. There are a lot of things about Hogwarts that used to be. That aren't there anymore. I've cried too much to cry again, so I sit in silence on the decimated Pitch, looking at the beautifully silent stars."
1. The Decimated Pitch

The Battle of Hogwarts is scarcely done, and Voldemort is vanquished once and for all. The many celebrations are tainted by the loss of loved ones. After a day of confusion—celebrating through tears and crying through joy—I need to get away from the crowded grief that is the Great Hall. Without conscious thought, I rush towards the Quidditch Pitch; it was always one of the best places to be alone and think. It's not there anymore, but I find myself sitting where it used to be. There are a lot of things about Hogwarts that used to be. That aren't there anymore.

I've cried too much to cry again, so I sit in silence on the decimated Pitch, looking at the beautifully silent stars. To be like them, removed from the pain of the battle, the pain of loss—

I can't think like that. Especially when there's someone else standing here. Someone else is in my safe haven, oblivious to me.

But then Harry says my name. "Ginny…"

He sounds so broken. "I'm right here," I call from across the Pitch.

He walks over to join me. "I know, Ginny. I know where everyone is. And I have to keep checking that Tom Riddle doesn't appear near anyone, even though we all _saw_ him die…Ginny, it's too much. He didn't die the last time. What if he didn't die this time?" He sits down next to me, hopelessly.

How can he doubt himself like this? "Harry," I say firmly. "You Know Who is—"

"Say his name!" Harry interrupts. "If he's no longer a danger, if you're not just as afraid of him as you were before, _say his name_."

I take a deep breath. "Voldemort...he's dead, Harry. He died in front of us all."

"What if I missed a Horcrux?" he asks in a voice so small he sounds like an insecure child. "What if he's coming back?"

"V...Voldemort isn't coming back, Harry," I reassure him. "Tell me, how's your scar?"

He looks surprised at my change of topic. "My scar? It's...it's fine. Why?"

"If he wasn't dead, he'd be furious you defeated him. Didn't Ron say that your scar is linked to his emotions?"

"Yes," he says, comprehension slowly dawning on his face. "If it doesn't hurt after he was defeated, he must not be able to feel anger anymore, and that was so much a part of him that he must be dead?" I'm sure he doesn't mean for it to be a question, but he needs my approval of this theory. He's asking for it but doesn't even know that.

He took it much deeper than I intended to, but I agree with him anyway. "Don't you see, Harry?" I ask. "Voldemort is gone, forever. You can do what you want, without worrying about him."

"I wanted to be an auror," he says dejectedly, pulling up and throwing handfuls of the scorched grass. He won't look at me. "Except I haven't finished school, and they won't accept someone who's only finished six years of classes. Not even someone who's survived Voldemort throwing the killing curse at him four times."

"Four?" I squeak. How many times exactly has he faced Voldemort?

He seems relieved to talk. "When I was a baby and he killed my parents; in fourth year when he came back in the graveyard; earlier tonight when he brought me back here, supposedly dead; and when his own killing curse finally ended _him _in the Great Hall," he says, ticking them off on his fingers.

"Come back to school." Can he tell how much I want him to agree to that? To come back to school with me? "You can graduate a year late and be an auror."

"I'm not like the other students," he says. "I _can't_ be like them. They're happy the war is over, but I'll always be haunted by it. It's my fault all those people died! If I hadn't come back to Hogwarts, he wouldn't have followed me here, and there would have been no battle."

"You had to come to Hogwarts," I remind him. "You needed Ravenclaw's diadem to defeat him."

"I needed to find the diadem so I could destroy it," he explains in his own backward logic.

"You wouldn't have found it anywhere else, Harry. You had to come to Hogwarts. You had to face him, or he'd still be alive. _That_ would be a thousand times worse than any battle." He doesn't say anything, so I continue. "Come back to Hogwarts. Let everyone see that you're not letting the memory of...of Tom Riddle get in the way of living your life. It's what they need, Harry, and you're the only one who can give it to them."

He nods slowly, considering. "Ginny, if I won't let Voldemort get in the way of my life, but I did before, is it too late to change that?"

"What do you mean?"

"There were people I hurt, to keep them safe. Will they understand?"

He hurt _me_ to keep me safe, nearly a year ago. "I don't think it's possible to understand what you're going through, Harry, or what you had to do to protect us all."

"Oh," he looks more hurt than he has all night. I didn't mean to do that to him, after everything else he's had to endure.

"I'm not done," I protest. "I think it _is _possible that they'll forgive you for the pain and move forward, if you ask them to." If they care about him even half as much as I do, they've already forgiven him.

Again, a slow nod, full of thought. "So if there was someone I distanced myself from, to keep her safe…"

Could he mean me? Or is there some other girl I don't know about? The thought makes me cringe. I can't really respond to that, so I just wait for him to continue.

"Could I earn her trust back, do you think?"

"Maybe," I answer ambiguously. If it's not me—and it can't be, he never lost my trust—I don't want to encourage him. Yet I can't bear not to.

"I hate this," he finally whispers. "All this uncertainty." He still won't look at me, only at the burnt patches of grass on his other side.

"Then do something about it," I challenge him, just as quietly. "Make a decision, and that's one less thing to be uncertain about."

"I want to finish school, I just don't know if I can handle being back here."

"Harry, listen to me," I say, almost desperately. "You can and you will. I'll always be right there to help if you need me."

"Always?" he questions, finally turning his face toward me. Of everything I said, that's what he chooses to latch on to.

"If that's what you want, yes."

"Ginny, I love you," he says. "I love you so much, and I've hated being away from you all this time. Of course I'll always want you there."

Now I'm crying, and I can't talk.

"Ginny, I'm sorry. If you like someone else I'll leave you alone." How can he think that?

I shake my head violently.

"Then why are you crying? Talk to me, honey, I need to know what's wrong."

It takes me a while to calm down enough to voice my thoughts, but I finally manage. "I missed you too, Harry."

He doesn't quite know how to react, but he cautiously puts his arms around me and pulls me close. I don't know how long we sit like that, but I never want to move.

"Ginny?" he finally asks.

"Yeah?"

"Can I come Hogwarts with you next year?"

"Yes," I mumble into his shirt.

We lapse into a comfortable silence. Eventually he takes my hand and stands up. "We really ought to get back, Ginny."

I give him my other hand and he tugs me gently to my feet, then wraps his arms around me. "Let's go see everyone," I agree reluctantly.

He smiles weakly. "Before Ron murders me for spending the night alone with his little sister?"

I smile back at him, my first since the battle. "Exactly."

As we trudge back to the castle, he never once lets go of my hand.

* * *

_This was written as a contest entry for ginny . jal . harry (minus the spaces—FF thinks her name is a web address, apparently)._

_It's currently a oneshot, and will stay that way at least until I've finished some of my other projects._


	2. The Mourning Hall

As expected, Ron is waiting for me—for us, really, since he's relieved to see Harry too—in the Great Hall. As is the rest of my heinously large family. I love them all, I really do, but sometimes it sucks to be the youngest one. Not to mention I'm a girl, and they're all overprotective older brothers who think they know what's best for me all the time.

But they don't react how I expect them to. There's no ranting that I went out alone, no screaming to be careful of who I'm with. Ron nods once to Harry, and my mother hugs us both. That's the end of it. They don't notice our hands entwined, or they choose to pretend they didn't. Either way.

And I don't realize until it's just simply _not there_ that I actually need them to chastise me, to bother me, to care about me, because that would mean that everything was back to normal. It would mean that we were _all_ here, not just some of us. It would mean that...that Fred…

Everyone in my family is trapped in their own silent grief: silent, because we've all cried too much. Only Harry is paying attention to me, notices the pain behind my eyes. Wordlessly, he wraps me up in his arms and lets me bury my head in his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Ginny," he says quietly into my hair. I know it's not just regret that Fred is gone, and that I should remind him the war needed to happen, but I can't right now.

It's not even real yet; I still expect Fred to jump up and laugh at us all for believing his joke. Because that's what would have happened in situations like this, normally.

And more than anything, I need my family to stop the silent vigil by my brother, because the Great Hall has never been a place of mourning and I don't know how I'll handle being in this room next fall, when we're supposed to be happy. Harry's wrong: he won't be the only one messed up at Hogwarts next year. There will be plenty of us joining him.

Finally, after far too long, Ron notices that Harry and I are standing together. Wearily, he talks to Harry. "Take care of her, mate. You hurt her, I'll kill you."

"You know I will, Ron," Harry responds as he wraps his arms tighter around me.

I look up to see the two of them, my brother and my—friend? boyfriend?—Harry smiling sadly at each other. Harry gently kisses my forehead. "I'm tired," I tell him. "Can you please take me back to Gryffindor Tower?"

"Of course, Ginny," he says. He keeps his arms wrapped loosely around me the whole walk there, and he seems reluctant to let go when we finally arrive.

I don't really want to be alone, either, so I push him down on the couch and snuggle up next to him. "Just stay here for a bit, yeah?"

He changes the way we're sitting so that he's more relaxed and I'm curled next to him with my head on his chest. "As long as you want me here," he promises. I don't think he realizes exactly how long that might be, but I let it go.

"I miss him," I whisper.

Harry hugs me tighter. "I miss him too, Ginny. You know, I gave them the money that started their joke shop. Don't tell your mum, though, she'd be furious."

I'm sure my eyes are bulging out of my head. "_You_ gave them that money?"

"My Triwizard winnings. I didn't want them, after…"

"So that's why they were always giving you free stuff," I muse.

"Yes. Then there's also the time that Ron and the twins kidnapped me at the beginning of second year. Fred…" he swallows. "Fred and George picked the lock that got my chest out of the cupboard without magic." It helps to talk about happy memories, and Harry seems more than willing.

"Our whole house smelled like dragon dung on more than one occasion though. They were always blowing things up."

"I remember," Harry says. "I spent quite a few summers at the burrow."

I'm halfway aware that I'm falling asleep, but I can't make myself tell Harry. He'll get up, because he can't be ready for sleep yet. I don't want him to leave, so I don't tell him as I nod off.

There's sun in my eyes and something wrapped around my waist. Harry's arms, I realize, remembering last night. He really stayed all night. I allow myself a peek at him through my lashes, but he catches me and smiles. "How was your night, beautiful?"

"First good sleep in a while," I admit. "It probably helped that you stayed."

He's suddenly serious. "I told you, Ginny, I'll always stay as long as you want me."

I smile sheepishly. "That could be quite a long time."

"I can live with that," he says happily. "Breakfast?"

* * *

_Yes, I know. This was supposed to be a one-shot, and I was supposed to update other things. Rest assured, I have been slacking equally between all my stories, this one included. I already had this written, and was trying to obey my own rules not to start a new story until I finished at least one, but that went out the window when I realized the immensity of the architectural project I'm currently working on for my studio class. I decided I could publish something that involved no work except copying and pasting. Please review and let me know if this one ought to be added to my current rotation, or if I should let it go until the others are done._


	3. The Welcoming Kitchen

It's not long before we've taken a wrong turn on our way to the Great Hall. I don't know whether Harry has forgotten his way around the castle or knows a shortcut, but he seems to have a particular route in mind. When we stop at a gigantic fruit painting, he reaches up to tickle the pear and a handle materializes.

"Where are we?" I ask in amazement.

He smiles at me as he opens the door. "Welcome to the Hogwarts kitchen. Please don't be offended—the house elves are going to fall all over themselves to get us something to eat. I'd rather just fix my own, but that would offend them. Let them work," he warns quietly as we walk in.

Sure enough, a house elf is in front of me almost instantly. "Please what may I make you, miss?"

"Breakfast?" I ask the elf. "Whatever you think would be good, if that's alright with you."

He nods and scurries off. Harry hasn't said a word since we got down here, and it doesn't seem like the elves have even noticed him. He understands the question I don't quite ask. "I've been here a few times. They know I'll ask for something if I want it, but I'm quite enjoying the idea of sharing your breakfast. They'll give you more than enough food for two since you didn't give them any specific order."

In less than two minutes, we're being plied with pancakes, fresh fruit, and coffee. It's the first good meal I've eaten in days, and I don't care how much I eat. Harry seems to be doing the same.

"You know," he says after we've eaten quite a bit, "this is heavenly compared to the food in our camp. Hermione is a great witch, but magic can't make food—if I remember correctly, you and the DA found that out this last year, too."

"Your camp?" I ask him. "Where was it? They looked all over for you, but there was never a trace."

"After the Ministry break-in—which I'm assuming you heard all about—it was a different place each night. Usually a deserted forest area, or somewhere we were fairly sure no one would accidentally run into us. Then we'd put up some fifteen or twenty defensive spells to hide ourselves just in case someone _did_ stumble across wherever it was that we were hiding."

He seems so willing to talk about all of this. It could be because this was before Voldemort attacked all of Hogwarts just for Harry, and he doesn't feel as guilty about it. "Everyone heard about the Ministry break-in," I inform him. "But no one could understand why you broke in to lead a few Muggle-borns to safety. What was so special about those particular people?"

Harry grimaced. "Nothing. We weren't there for them, but I just couldn't leave them after I saw Dolores Umbridge's interrogation techniques. They were surrounded by _dementors_, Ginny, just to be told that they had stolen someone's magic and thrown in Azkaban for it."

I could be pushing my luck, but I ask the next question anyway. "Then why _were_ you there?"

He closes his eyes, and I'm not sure whether he'll answer. After a moment, he finally opens his mouth. "Do you remember, when we were cleaning out Sirius' house, all the things that Kreacher kept stealing from the trash?"

"Yes," I say, unsure of where this was heading.

"Do you remember that silver locket that none of us could open?"

"The one with the fancy engraved _S_," I recall. "It was useless, wasn't it?"

He doesn't answer my question, but keeps talking. "Mundungus Fletcher stole it from Kreacher, along with other priceless artifacts from the house. When I finally got my hands on Dung, he had nearly been arrested for illegally selling those same items. Umbridge let him off—for a price."

"The locket?" I ask, even more confused.

"Yes. She didn't care that it didn't open—it was antique and carried that _S_, which she used to boost her own pureblood status as a Selwyn."

"What's so important about that locket?"

"It didn't belong to a Selwyn, ever," he says with disgust. "It belonged to Salazar Slytherin and was passed through his family for generations, until Merope Gaunt sold it to pay for the baby she was carrying—a boy who would come to be known as Tom Riddle."

I shudder, but Harry is too absorbed in the story to notice. In all honesty, I want to hear the rest of it, too.

"Years passed, and somehow Tom learned that he was the heir of Slytherin. He tracked down that necklace and locked a part of himself inside—just like he did with that vile journal. As long as it survived, he couldn't be killed. Dumbledore died looking for it, only to discover we had traced a replica. Regulus Black died stealing the original, and tasked Kreacher with protecting it. We tracked it down and your brother destroyed it."

"Ron?" I ask, unable to stop myself. "How?"

Harry swallows. "I opened it—with Parseltongue. That's why it wouldn't open at the house. It had to be commanded in a language unique to Voldemort and few others. Ron stabbed it with Gryffindor's sword, and it died."

There's so much about this war that I didn't know—that I doubt many people besides Harry, Ron, and Hermione knew. It makes sense, now, that he couldn't tell anyone. Somehow, they knew that a secret that huge wasn't safe to share. "Harry," I say. I wait until he looks at me. "Thank you. For everything. Without you, V..Voldemort would still be alive."

"But he's not," Harry says forcibly, still looking me in the eyes. "The diary, the ring, the locket, the cup, the diadem, the snake, me, and him. All dead."

"Harry. You are alive, and sitting right in front of me," I insist.

He shakes his head. "Sorry, Ginny," he says with a faint smile. "I just have to keep checking the list in my head. He had seven Horcruxes plus himself—I think he meant for them to total seven, but slipped up when he tried to kill me the first time. Ginny, not...don't tell...not even Ron and Hermione—"

"Harry, what's wrong?" I ask, scared.

"No one knows why I had to confront Voldemort last night. Ginny, there was a…a part of him in me. He had to kill me last night," Harry says, his voice breaking at the end. "And I had to let him, or he would still be alive. I saw you as I was leaving, and I didn't even stop to say goodbye. I thought I'd…I'd never see you again. But I did it for you and everyone else I love, and that was the only thing that kept my feet moving to the forest."

His admission is starting to scare me. "Harry, you're here, and you're alive. Voldemort is completely dead. You'd know if he was alive, I promise."

He nods, and he seems like himself again. "Ginny, I'm sorry. Really, I am, but I told you I'm messed up after this whole thing."

"I know," I acknowledge. "If you weren't, it would terrify me. Look, Harry, just promise me you'll talk to someone—Ron, Hermione, me, or someone else—when it gets hard to deal with, okay?"

"Even if I have to interrupt whatever you're doing?" he asks, skeptical.

I nod. "Nothing I'm doing can be as important to me as you are."

"You're the best, Ginny. I love you."

"I love you too, Harry. Come on," I say, handing our breakfast plates back to the house elves. "I think we ought to go find our family."

"You mean your family."

"No," I correct him. "I mean our family."

* * *

_This story has been on an unofficial hiatus for four and a half months...sorry about that. Please read and review, and you might encourage me to post again soon. The next chapter is already partially written :)_


	4. The Missing Staircase

Outside the Gryffindor common room, I finally begin to realize the extent of the damage the Battle of Hogwarts had on everyone here—the effect Harry sees every time he thinks about the battle. Parents and students alike are stumbling downstairs from the dormitories. Exhausted, grieving, and dirty, they make their way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Harry holds me tighter as more people join the group, but otherwise seems to be handling it fairly well.

"Excuse me, Mr. Potter?" a young witch I don't recognize asks.

"That's me," he says resignedly, as if he doesn't really want to talk to anyone.

"I know," she gushes. "Everyone knows who you are. I'm Clemencia Rossler, from the _Daily Prophet_. We'd like to publish your biography in sections through a weekly feature. After that, it could be sold as a book. I'd be the author, and it would only take a few exclusive interviews—"

"No," Harry interrupts. "_If_ a biography is written about me that contains interview information, I'd prefer it was by a close friend. I'm sorry, but I can't talk about this with just anyone."

"But Mr. Potter—"

"He said no," I interrupt. "I think you ought to be going."

"Hold on, Ginny," Harry says quietly. "Clemencia, right? No interviews, but I'll give you a statement right now. Are you ready?"

She nods eagerly as she holds her quill above a little notebook.

"This will be printed word-for-word as I say it. You may not omit or change anything. Got that?"

She nods again, a little less excited, but obviously still happy to be getting this directly from Harry.

"People still insist on calling him _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_ or _You-Know-Who_, but Voldemort is dead. Once and for all. I can personally guarantee that he will never return, thanks to Dumbledore's work before his own death. Fear of a name only increases fear of the object itself, and I would ask witches and wizards throughout the world to prove that they no longer fear him, as Voldemort's only real power over us was fear. Don't let the memory of a tyrant control your life; live freely, and remember to love."

"Is there anything else you'd like to add?" she prompts. "What you were doing this past year, or how you felt when he finally died?"

"No," Harry says flatly. She stomps off, and he actually laughs a little bit. "The _Prophet_ has guts, asking me to give them an exclusive interview. I think they realize how difficult they made my life during fifth year, but they haven't made any moves to apologize for that yet."

"You do realize you'll have to share some of this story eventually, before the wrong people tell it?" I ask.

"I know," he sighs. "I was hoping Hermione would do the honors, though."

"What exactly is it that I'll be doing?" Hermione suddenly asks from behind us. Ron, of course, is with her.

"The _Prophet_ just asked him for an exclusive interview to publish his biography," I fill her in. "I think he'd rather that you wrote it and published it separately from the paper, though."

"Harry, is this true?" Hermione demands in her bossiest voice. I can't help feeling sorry that I told her now.

He nods sheepishly.

Her angry face suddenly breaks into a smile, and she lets go of Ron's hand to give Harry a hug. "You are the best friend a girl could ask for!" she says happily.

"What does that make me?" Ron asks, though he doesn't seem upset.

"Oh, _Ron_," Hermione says, giving him a peck on the cheek. "Boyfriend and friend are completely different, and you are the best boyfriend I could ever want."

He's smiling. Apparently my brother has finally learned that he and Hermione actually _fancy_ each other. "Would you two like to join us for breakfast?" Ron offers.

"We'd love to," Harry says. "But we already ate. Can you believe Ginny had never been to the kitchens, Ron? Besides, I don't want to be near that huge group of people who might ask me for autographs yet. I'll deal with that later."

Ron shrugs. "Suit yourself," he says as he takes Hermione's hand and leads her out of the common room.

"Hermione's happy," I comment as they walk away. "A boyfriend and the chance to write a guaranteed bestselling book."

"She'll know what to include and what needs to be left out," Harry muses. "Some of the things we learned—I don't want to share the secret of Voldemort's immortality, in case someone decides to follow in his footsteps."

We're sitting on a ledge that used to be the top of a staircase, our feet swinging in the open space below us, when the owls start arriving. In less than ten minutes, there's a pile of letters and packages nearly as tall as Harry. He takes the nearest envelope and breaks its seal before reading aloud:

_Dear Harry,_

_Your bravery is inspiring. I would very much like to meet you and have a chance to thank you in person for the great service you have done for all of us._

_Sincerely,_  
_Mireille Welz_

"She's a Ravenclaw, fourth year," I inform him. "She's had a crush on you for as long as she can remember."

Harry looks at me, puzzled. "How do you know that?"

I look down at my hands. "This last year, it was my job to know every student in Hogwarts. If we heard rumors that something was going to happen to someone, we wanted to be able to prevent it. The Room of Requirement gave us a very complete list, including Muggle photos so they were always there for reference. I memorized that list."

He rips open another letter.

_To Mr. Harry Potter,_

_I've heard you're very famous. I would very much like an autograph of yours, in joined-up writing please. Sign a picture for me, and I'll sign one for you._

_From Gilderoy Lockheart_

"Am I going to have to deal with all this ridiculous fan mail?" he asks, exasperated. "Mireille wants to meet me, Lockheart wants an autograph. What's next?"

"Harry," I say quietly. "You killed Voldemort. He's actually gone this time. You're going to be regarded as the best wizard in the world until someone does something more impressive. I'll help you answer all the mail, but you can't really ignore it. These people admire you."

He puts his head in his hands. "I didn't ask for any of this. Dumbledore gave me a job, and I did it. I'm no better than any other wizard."

"How many people knew why Voldemort didn't die the first time, do you think?" I ask him.

He shrugs. "How would I know?"

"Of those," I continue, "How many people tried to do something about it?"

"Dumbledore," Harry says belligerently. "And me, because I had to, and Ron and Hermione because they knew what I was doing."

"And of those, Harry, who actually killed Voldemort?" It's strange how less scary he is when I can say his name.

"I did," he mumbles. "But I had help."

"I know," I tell him. "But sometimes people don't want their hero to need help. They want you to be a powerful wizard, the best in the world. And they want to know you're on their side. You give them hope."

"Hope for what?"

"A better life, a safer world. That good is stronger than evil, that love is more powerful than fear. They need that hope, Harry, and you're the one who made it possible."

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Reviews are always appreciated :)_


	5. The Closed Door

It's not long before everyone is returning from breakfast. It's weird, having this many different people in Hogwarts. It just adds to the surreal feeling after the end of this war. It's as if everything that has happened just might not be real, and I can't really accept any of it has actually happened.

Harry, on the other hand, seems to have accepted everything that's happened has actually happened, and still thinks it's partially his fault. Wanting to get him away from all the people staring at him and his pile of letters, I pull him to his feet—well, I pull on his hand and he stands up—and we start to wander through the halls of a deteriorated Hogwarts.

Eventually, after having to turn around several times due to more missing staircases and collapsed tunnels, we end up in the hall that once housed the DA Headquarters. Harry slowly walks up to the empty wall and puts his hand on it. "I don't think it's there anymore, Ginny," he says sadly.

"Just try," I beg. "Maybe there are some things Voldemort couldn't take from Hogwarts."

Slowly, we walk back and forth in front of the empty wall. I don't know what Harry wants to find, but I just hope there's a room there when we're done. After we pass the wall a third time, a beat-up old door appears on the wall. It looks as if it's been badly burned, and maybe broken off its hinges once or twice, but it's there nonetheless. A faint smell of smoke lingers in the corridor, just as it does throughout the castle.

No matter how hard we pull or what spells we try, the door just won't open. Instead, a piece of parchment appears and unrolls itself in the air in front of the jammed door.

_Dear Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley,_

_I am sorry to inform you that the Come-and-Go Room is not currently able to open for you or anyone else. There has been a terrible fire and the resulting damage has not yet been repaired. Please come back again later, when the room has had time to recuperate from this horrid curse._

Harry and I look at each other. "Does that mean…"

"I think it does," Harry says. "I think the Room of Requirement will be back next year, along with all of us. Hogwarts may have been beaten up, but it weathered everything that Voldemort and his Death Eaters could throw at it."

It's comforting to know that some things won't have changed—at least not all that much. Harry will be here again, like before the war. Dumbledore's Army will be able to meet like we did that year: in secret, but not fearing for our lives if our hiding place is discovered. I'm caught in the good memories of those meetings, when I suddenly remember my brothers in a practice duel. They could predict each other's every move, acting as two halves of a whole—

"Ginny," Harry says softly. "Ginny, come here." Before I can move, he's wrapped me in his arms again and I feel a little safer.

He doesn't apologize this time, and I'm thankful. He just holds me tightly and lets me cry again. Harry lost people he loved, too, but he has to be the one comforting me. I'm keeping him from mourning Lupin and Tonks. "Harry!" I finally say through my tears, which are falling even faster now. "What about Teddy? Lupin and Tonks…"

Harry rests his chin on my head. "I'm his godfather, Ginny. I'll figure something out; I have to. I can't very well go to school and take care of an infant." I can tell he feels guilty about that—Lupin asked him to do this, and he won't be able to fulfill his promise.

"He could probably stay with Andromeda for a few years," I suggest. "She'll take good care of her grandson, and you can visit whenever you'd like, I'm sure."

Harry nods slowly. "Andromeda could take care of him. I'll have to ask her, of course, and I'll help pay for whatever he needs—"

"Harry," I interrupt. "Don't worry about it right now. We can figure all this out later, I promise, but it does no good to be worrying about it yet."

"One thing at a time," he agrees.

* * *

_I hope you're okay with shorter chapters; this one and the next got too long when bunched together, besides the fact that they didn't quite fit with each other. One good thing is that the next chapter is 100% written, edited, and ready to go. Signed reviews get a teaser! :)_


	6. The Waiting Entry

The days pass in kind of a blur. Harry finally starts talking to people—his fans and admirers—as we all come to terms with what has happened.

After the Battle of Hogwarts, with so many gone, it became apparent that individual funerals could simply not be held. So many of us needed to mourn so many friends and family members, so Kingsley Shacklebolt and Professor McGonagall arranged for a massive service to be held here at Hogwarts. If I'm being completely honest, that day was more of a blur than most—all I remember is sobbing as Fred was buried.

It's the day that Harry gets a letter from the Minister that things start to become clear again. His presence is requested at the Ministry of Magic, but Kingsley won't tell him why. I spend the time that he's gone worrying, but knowing he'll be safe because there's no real danger right now.

When he comes back, he's dressed differently—more formally, I think at first, until I realize he's just changed into clean robes. He's clutching a piece of parchment as if his life depends on it, yet he looks stunned. "Ginny," he says, as soon as he sees me in the entrance hall, exactly where I've waited for the four hours, thirty-seven minutes and sixteen seconds since he left. "I missed you, love."

"I missed you too," I say. "What's the news?"

He stares at the parchment in his hand, and I gently pry it from his fingers.

_Mr. Harry Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you of your acceptance as an Auror within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Based on your experience and skill, we have chosen to admit you without your N.E.W.T.s and forgo the required training period and associated examinations. Please report to the Ministry of Magic on 1 July, 1998, for your first official day of work._

_Best Regards,  
__Kingsley Shacklebolt  
__Minister of Magic_

They've given him more than a month before he begins work, and I know he'll accept the job. "Congratulations, Harry," I say, though even I can tell my voice is too flat.

"I don't know what else to do, Ginny," he says quietly. "They lost more than half their Aurors in the battle. Kingsley is desperate to replenish their numbers."

I know what he needs to hear from me, so I say it—even though it feels as if I'm ripping my heart out of my chest. "Take the job, Harry. The world still needs its hero."

"I can't," he says. "It means I'd have to leave you again, and I won't do that."

I want to tell him to forget them, in that case. But the problem remains that I still believe what I just told him. "Harry, they need Aurors more than anything else in the world right now. If there aren't enough Aurors, more Dark wizards will spring up, and we'll be right back where we started with Voldemort."

"But—"

"I'm not finished!" I protest. "They need Aurors, but they won't make you live at the Ministry. I'm sure Mum won't object if you stay at our house for the rest of the summer, at least until I go off to Hogwarts. Once I'm there, I'm sure no one would object to Harry Potter showing up whenever he chose to grace its halls with his presence, especially me. You can be an Auror without leaving me completely alone, Harry."

A smile starts to tease at the corners of his mouth. "You mean I could stay with you but still help Kingsley out?"

"Yes," I say, feeling my smile start to mirror his.

Before I can say another word, he lowers his head to mine and gives me a gentle kiss for the first time in almost a year. "I love you, Ginny."

There is no better feeling in the world than that moment, when I whisper, "I love you back, Harry."

* * *

_Thanks to whoever put this on the Emerald and Chocolate Community list, and the guest reviewer who told me about it. This chapter is for you. Again, a little shorter, but they'll be the regular length again after this. Reviews usually make my day :)_


	7. The Dispirited House

As relieving as it is to be separated from everything except friends and family, safe in the bubble of Hogwarts, we can't stay there for long. It needs serious repairs, and we need to venture back into the world. It's for that reason that, two weeks after the battle, we're all headed home.

There's not nearly enough room on the Hogwarts Express for everyone who needs to leave Hogwarts, especially since so many others have joined us. McGonagall advises those who are licensed to Disapparate from Hogsmeade, and Hermione is thoughtful enough to sneak me away with the rest of my family. The invisibility cloak I'm hiding under smells like Harry—I have to wonder how long he's had it.

I hold on to Dad's arm as we travel home—it's an odd concept, knowing Fred will never be here again. The clock in the living room is gone, and I suspect we won't be seeing it again; I don't think Mum could bear seeing it with only eight hands.

There's no smell of burning, or noise of explosions. There are no dungbombs, either. There's no yelling, threatening to confiscate wands if there's another experiment in this house. There's nothing.

Until someone knocks on the door, and Dad opens it to find a very miffed young man standing on our doorstep. "May I help you?" he asks. It's the first thing anyone's said since we arrived home.

"Elbert Goswick," the man says. "I work for the _Daily Prophet_. I'd like to talk to Harry Potter."

"This is the Weasley residence," Dad says firmly.

"We've traced him here—a friend in the Ministry has been monitoring Apparition for me. He Apparated here not ten minutes ago. I'd like to talk to him now," he says, trying to force his way in.

Harry suddenly interrupts, before Dad and Elbert can get into a fight over it. "Not in the house, Mr…"

"Goswick," Elbert supplies. "Where would you prefer to talk, Mr. Potter?"

Harry smirks. "Mr. Weasley, is the shed out back still full?"

The broom shed? I wonder. What could he want with that? Dad looks just as baffled. "Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Thanks," Harry says. "This way, Mr. Goswick."

They're gone a while, and I'm starting to wonder what's going on outside. Still no one talks, no one moves, no one does anything. We can't bear to.

Harry finally walks back in alone, and Ron breaks the silence with a quiet question. "What did you do, Harry?"

Harry kind-of-not-really smiles. "I flew around for a while, I didn't talk much. Told the oaf that if he could keep up with me in the air, I'd answer his questions. I let him use the better broom."

"And?" Ron asks.

"He was a Chaser for Hufflepuff a few years ago."

My brothers and I understand immediately, and sort of chuckle. Hermione, on the other hand, doesn't get it. "If he was a Quidditch player, couldn't he fly well?"

"The difference between a Chaser and a Seeker in the air is like…it's like pitting a third year against a seventh year in a duel," I try to explain. "The third year doesn't stand a chance. They're both decent at what they do, but the seventh year is better at it."

This little exchange ends, and the house is silent again. I can't stand it, but I can't bear to interrupt it either. There are eleven of us sitting in the living room, and it still sounds as if the house is empty. Without Fred, this barely feels like home.

This time it's Charlie who hugs me when I start to fall apart. It sets off a chain reaction among my family, and before long we're all blubbering like fools with no concern as to what we must look like.

Slowly, the group begins to disintegrate. Bill and Fleur quietly head back to Shell Cottage, and Percy leaves soon after. Charlie walks George out the door to get away from all the crying, then sends a Patronus back to tell us they've decided a visit to the shop is completely necessary. I hope it can survive George's grief.

Eventually, Mum and Dad leave the room too, and it's just the four of us. Talking is a little easier now. "Blimey, I miss him," Ron says, voicing what we all feel.

Needing to get _off_ the topic of my brother, even just for a few minutes, I ask Hermione about her plans for next year. "I'm going back to school," she says matter-of-factly. "I need to reverse the memory charm on my parents, and I figure the best way to do that is to learn as much as I can. If they have to wait a year so that I can make sure I do it right and don't hurt them, they can."

Ron looks at his feet. "Great. Just bloody great. You all know what you're doing next year, and I have no bloody clue. Harry's an _Auror_, for Merlin's sake, and the two of you are going back to Hogwarts."

"Why not go back?" I ask.

Ron glares at me. "Do you think I can really go back to a classroom, Ginny?"

I shake my head.

"You wouldn't either if you'd done everything I have. Hermione _likes_ school, so it makes sense for her, but I just can't do that again."

The silence is back, but this time it's filled with awkward tension in addition to the sadness. I know he's just frustrated, but it doesn't give Ron a reason to lash out like that.

"Ginny and I are going outside," Hermione says, giving us a reason to get out of here. "We'll see you two later."

Ron is fuming and doesn't really acknowledge that he heard her, but Harry nods at us as we get up and walk to the door.

"So," I ask Hermione as we meander through the garden, "What did you want to talk about?"

She shrugs. "I don't know, but Harry said something the other day, and I didn't want to get Ron's hopes up. He told me that Kingsley might make the same exception for anyone of age from Dumbledore's Army or the Order that he did for Harry if the new Head Auror is agreeable. But if I say that, and then they can't offer a position to Ron, he'll be devastated."

I have to agree. "I think we all need to do something productive. For the two of us, it's going back to school. For Harry, it's being an Auror. Ron doesn't feel like anything he does can help right now."

"I know," Hermione says. "I just don't think he understands how much he's already done for everyone."

"It's not just Ron," I say. "Neither of them do."

Hermione rolls her eyes. "Boys. What are we going to do with them?"


	8. The Needed Letter

May becomes June, and sometimes I wish the world would stop spinning. How can it go on when so many people are gone? Yet sometimes I've been glad that everything has kept moving; otherwise, there wouldn't have been anything left after the war.

Harry has to go to the Ministry of Magic once a week to consult with Kingsley Shacklebolt and the new head of the Auror office, Coen Reeve. Usually he comes home in a nasty temper after they've fought, and Harry often confesses afterwards—when he's had time to cool down—that it started because he lost his temper with one or both of them.

So when he comes home today, I'm beyond confused. He walks out of the fireplace grinning, then gives me a quick kiss. "I did it," he says, obviously pleased with himself.

"What did you do?" I ask cautiously. You never really can be sure with Harry.

"I convinced them that the best thing they could do on such short notice, and with such a desperate need for Aurors, is to invite Dumbledore's Army and the Order of the Phoenix to join with no training." He picks me up and twirls me around the kitchen. "Since they already had a list of both organizations, and Ron was a part of both of them, he'll be getting his owl later today."

"You mean he'll be an Auror next year?" I ask, catching Harry's smile. His happiness is contagious, I swear.

"I stayed while Kingsley and Reeve signed the letters and sent them out. I think Kingsley wanted to make sure I knew they were actually doing it. He knew how important it was to me."

"Harry, that's great news!" I say, rather loudly.

"What's great news?" Ron asks, walking into the kitchen.

I look at Harry, who shrugs noncommittally but seems to understand that I expect him to give my brother an answer of some sort. "Kingsley and Reeve have finally agreed with me on some stuff. Ginny's making too big of a deal about it because she's happy I didn't come home ready to curse either of them."

"I'm happy that you kept calm and _reasoned_ with them rather than _arguing_ with them," Ginny retorts. "That is a big deal."

Ron rolls his eyes. "So what was today's agreement about?" he asks curiously.

Harry looks stuck, so I do my best to save him. "I already asked. He says it's classified and won't give me a straight answer."

"That's never stopped you from sharing before," Ron accuses.

"I know," Harry says. "But this is really important, and I could lose my job if anyone ever found out I told you—either of you. The whole world can't know how the Aurors operate, or we'd never get anything done."

Ron nods, seeming to accept this explanation, when a gigantic white owl flies through the window and drops five letters in the center of the table before perching lightly on a chair. Harry's the closest, so naturally he's the one to pick them up—he can't tell Ron to get a letter that he supposedly doesn't know is coming.

"For you, mate," Harry says, tossing one envelope across the table to Ron. "Looks important."

And in fact, it was. Without tearing his eyes away from the letter for even a second, Ron asked, "Harry, did you know about this?"

Harry laughs. "If it's the letter offering you a position as an Auror, then yes."

I don't know how, seeing as he won't look away from his own letter, but Ron suddenly notices that Harry is holding four other letters, too. "Who are those for?"

Harry flips through the envelopes as he reads the names. "Hermione, Percy, George, and your Mum. Your Dad would have gotten one too, but they just sent it to him at the Ministry. There'll be letters arriving at Shell Cottage for Bill, Fleur, and Charlie."

"My whole family?" Ron asks, a little surprised.

"Along with anyone else who's old enough and fought against Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts, though they're starting with members of the Order and the DA."

"Give me Hermione's letter—I'll run it upstairs to her and tell her the news," Ron says happily.

As he thunders up the stairs like a herd of charging elephants, I hug Harry. "You know, you really are the best boyfriend ever."

"They won't all take the job, you know," he says. "Hermione wants to go back to school, and I really can't imagine your dad giving up Misuse of Muggle Artifacts."

His prediction proves to be right. Hermione keeps the letter, reasoning that she'll use it if she ever needs a job as an Auror, but preferring to finish her seventh year at Hogwarts. Mum insists that she's completely through with fighting dark wizards, now that Bellatrix is no longer a threat to her children. Percy says he's not really one for fighting, and I have to agree—he's better at spouting rules and regulations than dueling.

George is the most forceful. He doesn't even open his letter, choosing to rip it to pieces and burn it instead since he already knows what it contains. "They're completely bonkers if they think I'm leaving our shop," he rants. "Leave my brother's shop? It's mental!"

Throughout the evening, Harry gets updates from Kingsley. They'll be short messages, scrawled on scraps of parchment. "Neville's in," he'll announce. Or, "Ernie MacMillan turned them down, but Angelina Johnson is a tentative yes. Katie Bell is definitely in." Or later on, "Oh, no. Dedalus Diggle accepted the offer. Hestia Jones did too, though, so that's a positive."

By the end of the night, Harry receives an up-to-date list of all the Aurors who have joined because of his agreement with the Ministry, with a note from Kingsley at the bottom. _Thank you, Harry_, it says. _We couldn't have done this without your persistence._

* * *

_Thank you to everyone who's been following and favoriting this story, and to the small percentage of you who have reviewed: a HUGE thank you. A review for this chapter will earn you a teaser for the next one :)_


	9. The Comforting Garden

As it gets closer to Harry's first day of working as an Auror, I can't help being nervous. What if he has to chase and capture a Dark wizard? What if he's threatened by people like the Death Eaters, or by any of them who managed to escape us?

The night before he starts, Harry asks me to take a walk in the garden with him. I'm sure he's noticed how scared for him I am, but I'm confused when he hands me a mirror. "It took me weeks to find another pair of these," he says quietly. "Aberforth has one, but its partner is smashed."

I turn the mirror over in my hand. It's small, not much bigger than my palm, and easily held despite the fact that there's no handle. The silver on the back is very intricately filigreed to look like delicate flowering vines winding around each other. "Harry, it's beautiful," I say, not quite sure what to do with this gift.

He pulls an identical mirror from his own pocket. "They're a pair. If you say my name into yours, I'll be able to talk with you wherever we are. I'll promise to talk to you before we go on a raid or do anything else dangerous, all right?"

I nod, happy at the thought of being able to contact Harry whenever I want.

"I'll miss you tomorrow, Ginny, but I'll be back for dinner. I strongly doubt I'll be doing any real work on my first day. They'll need to teach me a few things about how being an Auror works." He hesitates for a minute before continuing, and I think he's deciding whether to tell me something. "Kingsley said he and Reeve want me to be familiar with everything by the time everyone else arrives, to help transition everyone from Dumbledore's Army. They're assuming the few Order members will be able to transition on their own or with a little help, but no one from the DA has ever held a real job before, let alone done something this important."

It makes sense, really. The DA will trust Harry, since he's led us before. If Neville follows his lead, everyone will. And I know Neville—he'll do whatever he can to help, and he respects Harry as a leader. They'll all do well when they start in another two weeks.

"Ginny," Harry says. "There's one other thing."

"What is it?" I ask, confused.

He smiles. "Close your eyes."

I do, and I feel Harry reaching around my neck, then there's something cold against my skin—a necklace, it has to be—and Harry is stepping back. "It was in the same shop where I found the mirrors, and…well…I thought you'd like it."

I reach my hand up to touch the necklace, then pull it away from myself so I can see it. It's two simple bird silhouettes, sitting on a branch suspended by a delicate chain. "Harry, it's beautiful," I say, aware that I said exactly the same thing about the mirror.

He laughs. "This one doesn't do anything magical. I just wanted you to have it."

"I love it," I tell him. "I'm never taking it off, ever."

"Ginny, I've never actually asked you," he says nervously, and I wait. He'll finish talking when he's ready. "I mean, I broke up with you at the end of sixth year, and then…then, on the Quidditch Pitch—I love you, Ginny."

"I know, Harry. I love you, too."

"Well, do you think…Ginny," he says, taking one of my hands in both of his. "Ginny, will you…will you be my girlfriend?"

I have to tear my hand from his in order to put my arms around his neck, and I see a brief flicker of hurt in his eyes before he realizes what I'm doing. With a huge grin, he wraps his arms around my waist and bends down to kiss me.

He stops just before our lips meet, and keeps his face just far enough away that I can't reach it with my own. "Hold on, Ginny," he says. "You never answered my question."

"Yes," I breathe. "Yes, I'll be your girlfriend. I love you, so—"

He interrupts me with a kiss. "I know, Ginny. And I love you. I just wanted to hear you say it, officially. And when I leave tomorrow morning, I want you to remember that your boyfriend will be back for you."

After that, we fall into a routine. Harry leaves for work each morning after breakfast. He'll call on our mirrors once or twice a day, and I'll call him at least once. He'll come home for dinner and tell us bits and pieces of what he's learned, while leaving out whatever he's apparently not allowed to share.

We'll take a walk in the garden, just the two of us, once it's dark. We'll talk about everything from Hogwarts to broomsticks to Muggle things like telephones, which are nowhere near as good as our mirrors.

* * *

_Awww...at least I think so. Ginny needed to deal with the fact that Harry would have a dangerous job, and Harry needed to help her. Next chapter, Ginny gets some good news of her own, unrelated to Harry. If you can guess what it is, I'll give you a teaser :)_


	10. The Celebrating Family

It's not long before Harry and Ron are leaving for the Ministry of Magic together each morning. They'll joke with each other as they get in the fireplace, Ron frequently reminding Harry of his first time using Floo Powder—when he accidentally ended up in Knockturn Alley.

After they've left one morning, an owl arrives from Hogwarts carrying letters for Hermione and me. Hermione takes hers anxiously, wondering what books we'll need this year and who will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. "And I wonder," she muses, "Will they manage to keep the job for more than a year? With Voldemort dead, I mean. Do you think the curse is broken?"

She's still babbling on about classes when she opens her letter and a badge falls out into her lap. "I still have my Prefect's badge," she says unhappily. "Did Professor McGonagall think I would lose it or something?" She picks it up, though, and stops talking. She stares at the badge in her hand, then looks through her letter again.

"Hermione?" I ask. "Is everything okay?"

"Better than okay," she says with the beginnings of a smile on her face. "It's brilliant! Ginny, I'm Head Girl this year. McGonagall wrote that it's unusual for someone who's missed a year of school to be selected, but that she thinks I'm the best possible candidate for the job after last year."

"Congratulations!" I say happily as I tear open my own letter, only to have a badge tumble onto my own lap. It's not a Prefect's badge, I know instantly, having seen so many of them in my family over the years. It's different—more cleanly shaped, I think—and has more detail within the pattern, the roaring lion of Gryffindor. My eyes are drawn to a line of text across the top, reading "Quidditch".

I frantically sort through the paper that was included in my envelope. There's the usual letter, the list of supplies, the Hogsmeade permission form, and a letter from someone whose name I don't recognize. Eloisa Norwood, apparently the new Head of Gryffindor.

_Miss Ginevra Weasley,_

_I am pleased to inform you that you have been chosen as this year's Quidditch captain for Gryffindor House. You will be permitted to hold tryouts any time before your first game, which will be played against Hufflepuff House in October. Your position, as I am told, may be either Chaser or Seeker, depending on the team._

_Eloisa Norwood_  
_Head of Gryffindor House_

"Hermione, I'm Quidditch captain!" I say excitedly.

She does her best to be excited with me, and it's honestly admirable considering how little she understands Quidditch. "Ginny, that's great. Everyone knew you could get it, you know—Harry even said he'd write McGonagall himself if you didn't."

I smile, knowing the news that will actually get her excited. "You know a Quidditch captain letter is signed by the Head of House, right? And it's not McGonagall."

"No," Hermione says, shocked. "I mean, I assumed it came from someone, but it's not McGonagall since she's the Headmistress now…Ginny! You know who our new Head of House is—and presumably the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, since it's likely the only vacancy that would warrant a new Head of House."

"Eloisa Norwood," I tell Hermione, proud to know something before she does.

Excited, she goes off to her books to look up everything she can about our new professor, while I take out my mirror to talk to Harry.

"Look!" I tell him, the moment I see his face. I put the Quidditch captain badge in front of the mirror, very close.

He, unlike Hermione, immediately understands how important this is. "Ginny, congratulations! I'll have to take you out this weekend to celebrate, what do you think?"

I can't hide my smile. "I think that's a brilliant idea."

"Good," he says, smiling too. "Tomorrow night, then. Can you be ready to go out and celebrate the moment I get home?"

"Of course," I say. I'm always ready to go somewhere with Harry. "Er, Harry…what should I wear?"

"Don't worry about it," he recommends. "You always look beautiful, so that won't be a problem."

I laugh. "I love you, Harry. Now get back to work, before Reeve gets mad at you for being distracted again."

"I love you too. And I'll deal with Reeve if it means I get to talk to you."

"Harry," I scold. "I'll talk to you later, but right now you have work to do. I wouldn't want you getting fired on account of me."

He finally agrees and puts the mirror down, but not before saying, "I love you, Ginny. And they won't fire me, I promise."

After that, I'm buzzing with excitement. I tell Mum, who seems to think being Quidditch captain is on the same level as becoming a Prefect. "Well, Ginny dear, we'll have to buy you a present for that. What would you like? A new wand? New robes? A broomstick?"

Those all sound great, but I like my current wand, my robes fit well despite being second-hand, and I would honestly rather save for a Nimbus than ask her to buy one for me. My old Cleansweep Seven works just fine for now. "What about…" I ask hesitantly.

"Yes, dear?" Mum asks.

"What about an owl?" I say quietly. "So that I could write you this year without having to use a school owl."

Mum nods carefully. "An owl is a good investment. You'll have it for years, and be able to write us even once you're out of school. We'll go to Diagon Alley on Saturday so that Harry and Ron can join us if there's anything they need, and you can pick one at Eeylops."

"Thanks, Mum," I say happily. In two days, I'll have an owl of my own and be able to send letters to whomever I choose. I have the mirror to talk to Harry, but I'd like to keep in contact with some other members of Dumbledore's Army who graduated this year. After all, I do consider Neville a good friend, along with a few others.

Harry and Ron come home a little while before dinner, and Harry is carrying a bedraggled broomstick. I can't believe that the thing can even fly; he stashes it upstairs before joining the rest of us at the table. Dad and Percy arrive just as we're sitting down, and the whole evening becomes a celebration. It's the first time since the Battle that everyone has laughed together, and I realize how much I missed it these past months. It's time that some of the wounds of that night begin to heal, however slowly. Laughter is a good way to start.

* * *

_Thanks for reading, and I'd love to know what you think of this story. Reviews make my day and help me write faster :)_


	11. Chapter 11

Harry and I are going out to celebrate my position as Quidditch Captain tonight, and I've been getting ready for almost two hours when Hermione finally comes looking for me. "Ginny," she scolds. "You have to remember you're a witch, or this is all so much more difficult than—"

"I'm still underage," I remind her. "No magic outside of school, remember?"

She frowns, then takes the curling iron that wouldn't work no matter how tightly I wound my hair around it. "What…exactly…were you trying to do with this?"

I look in the mirror at my disastrous hair to avoid looking at Hermione. "It's a curling iron," I explain. "Muggles use them to curl their hair, I think."

She shakes her head, obviously trying not to laugh. "Oh, Ginny. Muggles use electricity to heat these up, and it's actually the heat that curls your hair. Do you want help?"

I nod, ready to cry at how difficult this all is. "How do you always manage to look so pretty all the time?" I ask her, frustrated.

"My hair used to be a disaster," she confesses. "It was always frizzy, and I could never control it. Yours at least looks good when you don't do anything to it. I've learned some helpful spells over the years, and they generally make my hair easier to manage." She glances at my hair, then stands behind me. "I think it's time you learned some of them so you don't do this to yourself again."

"Thanks," I say, grateful that she's saving my disastrous attempt to get ready for a date.

"First, _Afuero ambagesque_," she says casting the spell on my hair. "This will get rid of the knots so that you can actually manage to do something with it. "Then, if you want to curl it—I'm assuming you do—_Torquent cincinnis_ is your best bet, but make sure you only cast it on a small section at a time or you'll end up with one gigantic knot. Then, when you've got all the hair where you want it, _Induresco_. It will make sure the curls don't fall out before you're ready, and the spell for when you're done with them is _Conquiesto_."

With Hermione's help, my disastrous attempt at fixing my hair is remedied quickly, taking much closer to the amount of time I expected. Before I can even begin stressing about what to wear, Hermione pulls open my closet and starts looking through my options. She doesn't take long to choose a gray blouse and dark blue jeans. "Wear this and you'll look perfect," she suggests.

"Thanks, Hermione," I say again. "You really are the best."

She smiles. "Just promise me you'll have fun," she says. "You and Harry both deserve to relax for a night."

I promise, and Hermione leaves me alone to change. I don't need to think about a necklace—true to my word, Harry's gift has stayed around my neck since he put it there. But a simple pair of silver earrings, a touch of makeup—and I'm ready to go. I pick up my purse as I head downstairs, just as Ron arrives in the fireplace, followed quickly by Harry.

Harry stares when he sees me. "Ginny, you look…beautiful, as always," he says.

I can feel myself blushing while I smile.

Ron and Hermione head into the kitchen to relax, both of them happy that Ron is home for the night. "Do you reckon they'll let your mum know we're headed out, or do I need to tell her we're leaving?" he asks.

I roll my eyes. "It's _Mum_," I say, because that explains everything.

"Right," he says, conjuring a Patronus that canters off to tell Mum that Harry and I are off, but we'll be back before too late. "Are you ready to go?"

I nod excitedly. Harry takes my arm and holds a little too tight—I know that means we're going to Apparate and quickly grasp his, as well—and then we squeeze through space and time and end up standing outside the Three Broomsticks. "Dinner?" Harry asks, releasing his grip on my arm in favor of holding my hand.

"Please," I tell him happily. "It's been too long since I've been here."

Inside, we've been seated for barely two minutes when a man I don't know comes over to talk to Harry. He's very diplomatic in getting rid of our guest, but more have taken notice of us now. Before we even get our food, a wide variety of people are making a detour to our table so they can congratulate Harry and shake his hand, and some even ask for an autograph.

When the waitress returns with our food, Harry Conjures two boxes and hands her a Galleon. "Keep the change, please. We really can't have a peaceful dinner here, but I don't blame you for that."

She barely has time to nod before we stand up and Harry takes my arm again. "Ready to go?"

Now we're in a wooded meadow, somewhere I've never seen before. The late sun makes everything glow, and I'm entranced.

"It's not quite the date I imagined," Harry apologizes when I don't say anything.

He needs to be reassured. "It's beautiful, Harry. Perfect."

We just stand and look for a few minutes longer before Harry Conjures us a blanket to sit on and silverware to eat with. He holds up his fork, laughing. It's missing the center tine, and the one on the left is badly misshapen. "I was never great at that," he admits. "I could cast a Patronus in third year, and that's past N.E.W.T.-level magic, but Conjuring a simple fork…impossible."


End file.
